


Courtesy

by jillyfae



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: F/M, Mark of the Assassin, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-02
Updated: 2014-06-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 03:52:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,813
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1730153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/pseuds/jillyfae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>One precious brief interlude, away from politics and Grey Warden business.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Courtesy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Hot_elf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hot_elf/gifts).



> previously included in [Dreams and Nightmares](http://archiveofourown.org/works/614137/chapters/1107230); separated out while I was trying to organize the short fic into more manageable collections.

There was a throb behind her eye, like a metaphorical spike was driving through her temple to lodge deep in her skull.

Bethany had dreamed about something like this once, about being a girl at a fancy party, full of drinks and food she couldn’t even imagine and flowers and beautiful clothes everywhere …

Only she wasn’t a girl, and even her almost-pretty gown was Warden blue, showing her allegiance, her duty, her curse weighing down her shoulders even now.

She didn’t even have anything to fight for a distraction.  No tunnels, no darkspawn, no bandits, even, no one but simpering nobles as Hawke and Tallis attempted to do their thing.

(Even if there had been anyone, she’d been sent to help show that the Wardens of Ferelden were civilized, rather than the grunting mud-caked barbarians of Orlesian gossip, so she’d rather not see Stroud’s face if she returned after making a scene.

Well, Stroud’s face would probably be highly entertaining.  Whatever punishment duty he managed to come up with ten minutes later would likely be horribly brilliant and borderline demonic, however.)

None of which mattered now, stuck as she was standing stiffly beside a buffet table, wondering what to do with her damn hands after spending the last few years fighting, the etiquette her mother had taught her only a dim memory itching in the back of her brain.

_I do remember it wouldn’t do to try and scratch it back out again?_

“Milady,” a warm voice whispered from beside her, and she almost jumped in surprise.  ”May I have this dance?”

Sebastian was offering her his hand, that dangerously sweet smile of his aimed directly at her.  

“You don’t have to, Sebastian.  I don’t require baby-sitting.”

“I am well aware of that.”  One side of his mouth curved even higher, and she could feel it in her stomach, a twist of nerves and surprise and anticipation, as dangerous definitely edged out sweet.  ”Has it not occurred to you that, perhaps, I am delighted by the opportunity to have you to myself, just this once?”

She couldn’t quite seem to figure out an answer to that one, and slowly placed her hand in his instead.

He had good hands, his fingers strong and gentle as he held her.  He was light on his feet, that smile never leaving his eyes, until she rather forgot about the rest of the party beyond the fact that it was providing the music that kept them moving.

It didn’t take long for her to start considering other sorts of dances-for-two, and what those hands would feel like trailing over more than just her hand and hip, to wonder if that accent of his would thicken if she touched his skin.

 _Maker,_  he was a sinfully good dancer.

He was also sinfully polite about it, never a step too close, never a straying glance or a sliding hand, never mind how much they both were thinking about it, his eyes dark and her skin flushed and his fingers tightening as they turned and her breath catching in her chest.

It was exhilarating, like a courtship in a bedtime story crossed with the first chapter of one of Isabela’s dirty novels.

Of course, it was unlikely they’d manage anything from the rest of the book, what with Duke Prosper’s dinner due to start at any moment, and the very high likelihood that they’d have to rescue Hawke from Tallis’ schemes sometime soon … truthfully, she was rather surprised they hadn’t managed to trigger an alarm already.

The music stopped, and the couples around them separated enough to manage some polite applause, muffled by gloves and soft conversation.  Sebastian stepped back as well, and she tried not to sigh with disappointment,  _back to reality,_ but he never let go of her hand, his fingers shifting his grip as he bowed and raised it to his lips.

“I thank you for the honor, milady.”

She swallowed past an urge to blush, to duck her head.  ”I’m no lady, Sebastian, please.”

“You most certainly are.”  He straightened up, eyes still dark and smile still dangerous, until she could almost see the shiver of heat between them.  ”Beautiful, and poised, and deadly, and every inch the lady.”

“Has it not occurred to you,” she stepped in as close as she could, breathing her whisper against his cheek, “that perhaps I might wish a more, intimate, address from you?”

His eyelids blinked so very slowly she could almost feel the weight of his eyelashes against his cheek.  She wanted to feel them on her own skin.  ”Whatever you desire, my Bethany.”

 _Oh._   His accent had thickened already.

She could feel her nostrils flare as she tried to remind herself to breathe.  And not to just drag him across the garden until she found a door she could open.  And then lock behind them.

But of course the bell for dinner had exquisite timing, the clear tones rising above the noise of the party guests and interrupting her every chain of thought.  

Sebastian reached up, his fingers a breath away from her cheek, but then his hand dropped, his head shaking with a soft sigh.

Instead of the caress they’d both wanted, so much she could see the tension in the line of his arm, could feel it in the ache of her jaw, held much too tight, he offered her his arm instead, and they turned and followed the nobles in towards the feast.

She could only hope they’d manage to continue their  _tête-a-tête_  later.  But at least she didn’t have a headache anymore.

* * *

 

Tallis got away, they had no proof of any qunari spies anywhere, and Bethany had gone well beyond ‘making a scene’ and helped murder Duke Prosper himself.  Self-defense frequently wasn’t a good enough excuse when dealing with Orlesian nobles.

Stroud was going to kill her.  He was going to send her onto her Calling twenty years early just to make a point … if she was lucky.  If she wasn’t lucky, he’d send her to Weisshaupt and make her explain herself to every Warden Council ever, and possibly even make her apologize to the Empress’ Court in Val Royeaux, and THEN he’d send her on her Calling.

_At least I have a bit of a reprieve, before I have to face him._

And what a reprieve.  

Sebastian had offered to escort her back, claiming he had business in the same general direction, and while she was more than capable of taking care of herself, of course, it would probably be easier not to have to explain the Warden Mage situation to anyone along the way, yes?  

_A traveling couple raised fewer eyebrows than anyone wandering about alone, after all._

They made such a nice couple, too.  She enjoyed the change from her usual patrol routine when traveling with other Wardens.  He was so very courteous on the way, leaving her to her thoughts when she was quiet, the touch of his hand both strong and gentle when he took her arm, his accent thick and warm when they spoke.

Bethany considered introducing him as her husband at their first stop when she booked a room for the both of them, but realized the innkeep’s opinion wasn’t that important.

She almost felt like a bride that night though, with their very first kiss, alone in their room, his lips soft and his hands warm and the fire crackling in the background.  He undressed her so carefully, as if he was unwrapping a priceless gift, taking his time with hands and mouth as they settled across the bed.

She kept making him stop when she pulled him close to kiss him again, palms flat against the line of his cheekbones, fingers digging through his hair against his scalp.  She lost track of time completely, only vaguely aware of the fire slowly dying down to embers before she wrapped her legs around his hips and groaned as he finally pushed inside her.  They rocked together, her hands gripping his shoulders as her spine curved and her head pushed down and her chest rose up against his weight above her, his breath hot against her throat and jaw as he moved, the soft wordless moan of her voice the only sound she made as her orgasm slowly rolled through her body.

She whispered his name when he shifted, his fingers finding hers as he spilled inside her.

The next night their room was smaller, no fireplace, but the door still locked behind them.  She grinned at him and shoved him to the bed beneath her, riding him hard, rolling her hips and clenching her body tightly around him, until he bucked up beneath her with a shout, and she came so hard the room went white before she blinked her vision back to normal.

The third night they were forced into a common room, the inn overflowing due to rainstorms in the area, everyone bunking down in rows before the giant hearth.  He hugged her close as they shared a pallet, and in the dark of night when the fire was low and the other guests all seemed to be asleep, his hand slid between her legs, the slow stroke of his fingers making her push back against his chest, his other hand over her mouth to muffle the sounds she couldn’t quite seem to suppress, a needy gasping edge to her breathing until she shuddered in his arms.

She returned the favor the next day, after the weather turned again and they were forced to shelter in the middle of a thick copse of trees, his head pressed back against the bark as he moaned, her tongue pushing up against him as he filled her mouth, until his hips jerked and she swallowed hard.

They couldn’t get enough of each other, again and again, night after night, his skin against hers, his voice in her ear, his tongue, his hands, his cock deep inside her.  She dallied along the way as much as she dared, managed an extra night in one last inn, a tiny garret room at the top of the building.

But it was theirs, one final time, a desperate edge to each touch as they clung together, as he filled her with his heat and she called his name in the dark.

And then the sun rose, his hands in her hair and her fingers stroking his jaw, and she didn’t know how to leave.  He did though, once the sun was high and they reached the end of their road.  His eyes were so very dark as he looked at her, and she could feel the heat hiding behind her own eyes, half lust, half sorrow.  When their time finally ran out his voice was smooth, and his fingers warm, and he bowed over her hand and kissed her skin good-bye.


End file.
